


Under The Big Top

by Kenda1L



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Acrobat Keith, Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - Historical, But Not For Long TBH, Circus Freaks, Dads of Marmora (Voltron), Getting Together, KoliThace, M/M, Massage, Original Character(s), Period Typical Animal Treatment, Period Typical Child Labor, SHEITH - Freeform, Shiro is a Tease (Voltron), Street Kid Keith, Strongman Shiro, Temporary Muteness, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Yes Those Two Tags Are Connected, allurance, mentions of period typical homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:13:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23898058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenda1L/pseuds/Kenda1L
Summary: When the Circus comes to town, Keith has no money for entrance, but it’s easy enough for a scrawny eight year old to wriggle through the narrow gap between ground and canvas. Half hidden under the bleachers, he revels in the chaos—acrobats, contortionists, jugglers and knife throwers, silly clowns and exotic animals and the Ringmaster who orchestrates it all. He falls in love with the bright, fearless men and women who balance and swoop and fly through the air, held aloft by belief and magic.He wants to do that. He wants to be that. He aches for it in his very bones.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 221





	Under The Big Top

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Cas](https://twitter.com/Castellation_), who won my Twitter prompt giveaway. This was meant to be 2k words. Obviously, it is not. Oops? Thanks for the wonderful prompt, Cas, hope you like it!

When the Circus comes to town, Keith has no money for entrance, but it’s easy enough for a scrawny eight year old to wriggle through the narrow gap between ground and canvas. Half hidden under the bleachers, he revels in the chaos—acrobats, contortionists, jugglers and knife throwers, silly clowns and exotic animals and the Ringmaster who orchestrates it all. He falls in love with the bright, fearless men and women who balance and swoop and fly through the air, held aloft by belief and magic. 

He wants to do that. He wants to _be_ that. He aches for it in his very bones.

Keith sneaks into the big top three days in a row. On the fourth, he sneaks onto the train rattling down the tracks to their next destination. He finds shelter and a hiding spot among the animals. He bunks down with the camels because they are warm and accustomed to humans, thanks to their trick riders. He makes friends with the monkeys and dogs. He stares at the lion and tiger with cautious awe as they sprawl indolently in their cages, staring right back at him as if trying to decide whether he is food or friend. 

He picks at stray seeds the exotic birds drop on the floor and occasionally samples the dog kibble. Some of the monkeys take a liking to him and sometimes offer him bits of the fruit given to them as treats by the circus members. When they reach their next destination, he slips off the train and gorges himself on caramel popcorn, roasted nuts and half-eaten hotdogs thrown away by bratty, privileged children. He fills his pockets for later and pays the monkeys back for their generosity.

He only gets sick once. It’s a miserable two days and he nearly gets caught when one of the workers finds the sick he’d tried to bury in the straw, but he’s good at hiding, even when he’s dizzy with dehydration. Eventually, they blame it on one of the dogs and move on.

He manages to stow away through six shows. Even then, the only reason he gets caught is because one of the circus workers takes notice of the little kid who seems to pop up at every show despite the miles between them. He drags Keith, kicking and clawing, onto the train and into the compartment that holds the circus owner's office and, apparently, sleeping quarters. The man, huge and foreboding, looks up from his finance books when they enter. “Thace,” he greets with an even voice. His eyes flicker down to Keith, grim mouth curving into a further frown. “Thief?”

The man currently holding Keith’s arm in a death grip shrugs. “Haven’t seen him picking any pockets.” Keith resists the urge to roll his eyes. If someone saw him picking pockets, then he wouldn’t be very good at it, would he? “I _have_ seen him skulking around at the last three shows. I believe we have a stowaway.”

The owner’s eyes focus on Keith again. It takes everything he has not to shrink under the man’s heavy regard. “What’s your name, boy?” Keith clamps his mouth shut and glares sullenly at the worn oriental carpet under his feet. “Where’d you come from?” Keith grinds his teeth. “Where’ve you been hiding?” Keith turns his glare from the floor to the owner.

“He smells like animal dung,” Thace offers up when Keith shows no signs of answering any time soon. 

The owner doesn’t take his eyes off Keith, but his expression relaxes into something a little less intimidating. “Do you like animals?” 

Caught off guard, Keith shrugs and looks away, biting his lip. He likes them well enough, though they’re not what interests most. 

The owner makes a contemplative sound. “We could use another pair of hands to shovel the dung and clean the cages.” Keith snaps his head back to stare at the owner in shock. “It’s hard, thankless work, but I suppose we can spare a bunk and three meals a day, if you’re willing.”

“Yes!” he blurts out. The word is a feral thing, clawing its way out of a throat no longer used to speaking. The sound of it is loud and harsh, even among the shrieks and laughter of the circus-goers outside. Keith blushes and scowls, ashamed of his over-eager outburst.

The man’s eyebrows twitch upwards ever so slightly, but he nods and looks to Thace. “Will you get him settled and then take him to the mess hall? Maybe clean him off a bit first.” The owner’s expression doesn’t change, but Keith thinks there might be some amusement hidden in those placid eyes.

“Are you sure about this, Kolivan?” Thace asks. “He’s hardly more than a baby. Someone may be looking for him.” _Not a baby,_ Keith thinks indignantly, but says nothing.

Kolivan’s eyes pierce through Keith. They see straight to the core of him. “Children don’t stay children for long on the streets. No one is looking for you, are they.” It’s not really a question. Keith shakes his head no, anyway. Kolivan looks at Thace as if to say, _'well, there you go, then.'_

If Keith weren’t standing so close, he may have missed Thace’s resigned sigh. His grip on Keith’s arm loosens and falls away now that Keith is no longer a flight risk. “Very well, then. Come with me.” He turns and exits, clearly expecting Keith to follow. 

Keith is halfway through the door when Kolivan calls out to him. “What is your name, boy?”

Keith swallows hard. He doesn’t want to risk losing his chance for a real life over such a small thing, but silence has been his companion for so long now that opening his mouth seems an impossible feat. He fidgets nervously, clenching his fists until his nails dig in. 

After a moment, Kolivan nods. “Tomorrow, perhaps.” He turns back to his books in clear dismissal. Keith scampers out of the train compartment and over to Thace’s side. 

Keith’s face splits into a grin as fear drops away and he takes in the sights and sounds and revelries of his new home. 

***

Working for the Circus is a hard, grueling job. Often his day starts with the sun, long before any of the performers begin to stir, and ends long after the sun has set. He does the jobs no one else wants — he cleans the cages, digs the latrines and empties the pots on the occasions their location doesn’t allow for digging. He washes clothes and picks up trash and runs himself ragged carrying messages from one circus member to another. He helps the cook prepare breakfast each morning, yawning and half asleep as he peels endless piles of potatoes and stirs porridge until he thinks his arms might fall off. _At least the crew will enjoy the extra meat,_ he thinks morbidly, and keeps stirring.

He never complains or hesitates when asked to complete a task. He is no stranger to hard work. He is also no stranger to starvation or cold, roofless nights. He has done far more for far less, and with the circus, he is well-fed and well-tolerated. Performers and crew alike turn a blind eye when he sneaks away from the job on occasion to watch the show. At night, after the crowds have dispersed, the circus members welcome him into their own celebrations. The women dote on him and ply him with bits of candy or delicacies they’ve picked up on their travels. The men sneak him sips of brandy and beer until he is warm and full and a little dizzy. He falls asleep on the bearded lady’s plump lap while she scratches his back and braids ribbons and beads and feathers into his hair. In the morning, he is shaken awake by the cook’s son and rolls from his bunk to begin again.

He is happier than he has been since the day smoke spoiled the city air and his father’s uneaten dinner.

Once a week, Kolivan makes it a point to find Keith wherever he happens to be working that day and asks how he is faring. Keith answers his queries with grunts and shrugs and gestures rather than words. His voice remains caught up tight in his chest, but Kolivan never seems to mind his muteness like some of the other circus members do. He always ends their conversation by asking Keith for his name. Keith never answers, though he wants to. Kolivan never presses, just nods in acquiescence. “Tomorrow, perhaps.” 

Tomorrow, tomorrow. Someday, ‘tomorrow’ will be today. But not this day. Today, he nods with an apologetic grimace and returns to work.

Keith practices on the animals, sometimes, when no one else is around. _Keith._ He shapes his mouth around the word, adds a hint of breath to whisper it, ecstatic and terrified by the vibration of his own vocal chords as whispers eventually turn to murmurs, a little louder every day. _I’m Keith._

Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Someday. Today.

Keith bursts into Kolivan’s private quarters, door sliding open with a rattle that startles the two men inside. “I’m Keith,” he declares, loud and strong and far more confident than he feels. 

Kolivan squeezes Thace’s hand, entwined with his own on the tiny table between them. He gifts Keith with one of his rare smiles. “I’m pleased to meet you, Keith. Welcome to Circus Marmora.”

***

Keith loves everything about the circus, but nothing catches or keeps his attention like the acrobats. They twist and flip and leap like cats, weaving and dancing through the other performers with ease. They dive fearlessly through hoops of fire. They sail like birds through the air. His heart sails with them, knocking at his throat like it intends to burst right out of him and join them on the high wire. He watches them every chance he gets. When they perform, he can’t take his eyes off them. 

He enjoys their practices even more than their performances, even if they aren’t as flashy. He studies their every move, catalogues their successes and failures and the whys and hows of both. He breaks their moves down in his head and then does his best to imitate them whenever he’s alone. Somersault, cartwheel, handstand. Moves he has no name for, like that one that starts like a cartwheel before twisting and ending like a flip. He nearly breaks his neck more than once trying to master the back flip. He whoops joyfully when he succeeds the first time. He scares the birds and gets scolded by Beastmaster Olia, but he hardly hears her.

He climbs trees like a monkey, swinging from the branches and imagining them to be trapeze bars. He clambers atop the animal cages and balances, barefoot, on the bars while the lions and tigers laze about below. The first time one of them swipes at him, he nearly wets himself. He falls off the cage and bruises his tailbone on the hard ground below, but the pain is unimportant as he scrambles backward through the dirt until he’s out of paw’s reach. The tiger yawns and rolls on its back, splaying belly up with one paw pushed innocently through the bars as if daring him to try again.

Keith narrows his eyes. _Avoiding them would be good practice,_ he decides. Danger is part of being an acrobat, and he’s never backed down from a challenge, not even from an overgrown cat. Not even if said cat has teeth and claws the size of his hand.

It becomes a game. Lion only swipes at him out of annoyance when he jostles the cage too much, but Tiger likes to play. She bats at Keith’s hands and feet while he jumps and dances across the bars. Every once in a while, Tiger will catch him, but her claws stay sheathed. Keith suffers only a few minor scratches and occasional tooth mark for his missteps. _Overgrown cats, indeed._

Keith is attempting to hand-walk across the cage one late November day. The freezing metal bars nip and bite at his palms but gloves would be too slippery and impractical. He flexes his fingers as much as he can to work the numbness from them. His attention is focused entirely on his own body and Tiger prowling below as she waits for an opening, so he doesn’t notice the person approaching until they shout, “Watch out!” in a panicked voice. 

Keith startles, then curses as he tries to regain his balance. Tiger takes the opening, reaching up to swipe at him with both paws, muzzle dangerously close to his own face. He drops his legs quickly to veer out of her reach. It would have been fine, but then hands clamp around his ankles and yank. He face-plants against the bars with a yelp, knocking his chin against hard metal. Tiger’s paw catches his cheek. A red-hot strip of pain burns across his face as she drops back down. Keith is yanked off the cage by his feet and crushed up against a barrel chest by arms thick as his legs. He’s roughly set down on the ground and then shaken until his teeth rattle by their strongman, Iverson. 

“What were you _thinking?”_ The man bellows in Keith’s face. “Have you gone batty? You could have been killed!”

Keith scowls mulishly and tries to wrestle himself free from the man’s grip, but the hands on his arms squeeze hard. “I was fine,” Keith shouts back, still struggling. “Tiger wasn’t going to hurt me.”

Iverson’s face goes from pale and shocky to a red so deep Keith would worry for the man's health if he weren’t spitting mad himself. 

Iverson lets go of one arm to grab Keith’s face and jerk it roughly to one side. “Really? What do you call this, then?”

Keith wrenches his head away and cups his free hand against the injured cheek as if to hide away the evidence. “That was your fault. Everything was perfectly fine until you came along and startled us.” He looks over at Tiger, who is licking at one paw. Keith thinks there’s a hint of guilt in her eyes, even if it’s his blood she’s licking clean. Keith turns back to Iverson. “She’s harmless, just ask Beastmaster Olia!” 

_Please don’t ask Beastmaster Olia,_ Keith silently wills the other man. He sincerely doubts she would take his side in this.

Iverson stares at him, slack-jawed like he can’t believe the words coming out of Keith’s mouth. Then his expression turns thunderous. Keith’s stomach sinks. Iverson grabs Keith by the ear and drags him across the circus grounds, muttering about foolhardy little brats determined to kill themselves. Keith stumbles after him, face burning as every circus member stops what they’re doing to watch Keith’s walk of shame. 

The clowns trail after them, jeering at Keith until Iverson snaps at them to leave unless they want to be hauled in front of Kolivan too. Keith sneers at them as they laugh and back off. They haven’t cared for him much since the night he had a few too many nips of brandy and kindly informed them that their act was boring.

Keith hardly has time to think about his revenge on them before he’s being shoved bodily into Kolivan’s train compartment. Kolivan and Thace look up from the pile of maps and permit requests in front of them. Thace sucks in a sharp breath when he sees Keith. Kolivan, in a rare show of emotion, stands so quickly that his chair tumbles to the floor and crosses the compartment in two large strides. He drops to his knees in front of Keith, eyes scanning over him frantically. Keith realizes belatedly that his shirt and hands are bloody from the scratch on his cheek. He must be a ghastly sight. Guilt twines its first tendrils around his heart. 

“What happened?” Kolivan barks at Iverson without taking his eyes off Keith. His hands are warm and far gentler than Iverson’s as he tilts Keith’s head to get a good look at the wound.

“I’ll tell you what happened,” Iverson growls. “This… this little _idiot_ decided it would be a good idea to do handstands on top of the tiger cage.”

Kolivan blinks. Keith cringes. Kolivan shifts his gaze to Iverson. “Pardon me?” he says in flat disbelief.

“Handstands. On the tiger cage,” Iverson repeats. “If I hadn’t gotten to him when I did, that vicious beast might have torn him to pieces.”

Keith scoffs. “Tiger’s not vicious,” he argues vehemently. “We play all the time and she’s never hurt me! If _someone_ hadn’t tried to pull me off the cage, it wouldn’t have happened this time either.” He turns a baleful look on Iverson before focusing on Kolivan’s somber visage, a sudden fear chilling his gut. “She didn’t mean to, it was an accident. She’s not bad, I promise.” He takes Kolivan’s hand in both of his. “I’ll never do it again, I swear, just please don’t hurt her. Please.”

Kolivan studies Keith’s hands wrapped around his own with a bemused frown. Plenty of people touch Keith, but Keith rarely touches first. It’s a testament to how strongly he feels that he does so now without hesitation. When Kolivan finally meets Keith’s gaze again, he has the tiniest of smiles on his face, even though his brows are pulled down and his eyes remain serious.

“I don’t believe I’ve heard you speak so many words in one day, much less in one go,” he muses. He stands. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Iverson. Please fetch Ryner to see to Keith’s face before you return to work.” It’s a clear dismissal, one that has Keith smirking despite the way it pulls at his wound. Iverson grumbles under his breath.

“No need,” Thace says from behind them. Keith hadn’t even seen him leave, but now he enters the room with their fortune-teller and unofficial nurse in tow. Iverson looks between the four of them, then nods tightly and disappears.

“Tiger?” Keith asks as Kolivan lifts him up to sit on the table so Ryner can examine the cut on his face and bruise on his chin.

Kolivan rubs his chin thoughtfully, then nods once firmly. “She is safe for now. There have not been any incidents before today, and I have no reason to disbelieve you now. I would like to know why you thought doing handstands on her cage was a good idea, however.”

Keith winces, only partially from pain as Ryner cleans his wound. He mumbles something, then sighs and repeats it louder when Kolivan fixes him with an unimpressed stare. “I was practicing. Tiger likes to play, and the cage bars are the only ones the same size as…” he trails off and bites his lip. He’s held his dreams so close to his chest for so long, they are nearly as hard to say as his name was when he first arrived.

“As?” Thace prompts from his seat on the bed. 

“...as the trapeze bars,” Keith whispers. He wants to look away, unreasonably embarrassed, but Ryner is brandishing a needle in preparation to stitch his wound and he’s not so stupid as to move right now.

Silence greets his words. Keith’s hope sinks into his stomach. It flounders and drowns under churning waves of acid. At least it distracts him from the horrible, stomach-turning feel of thread tugging through flesh.

“How old are you now, Keith?” Thace asks quietly. 

Keith glances at him sidelong. “Ten,” he says warily. Thace looks at Kolivan, who stares placidly back. An entire conversation passes between them, spoken in a language of twitching eyebrows, pursed lips, and head tilts.

Finally, Kolivan sighs. “I suppose it is past time we start thinking about your future here.”

Hope breaks the surface and takes a gasping breath. “Future?”

Thace raises an eyebrow at him. “Unless you prefer your current job?”

“No!” Keith blurts, then widens his eyes and stutters. “I… I mean, I want to stay, no matter what, but. But if I could…” He hisses as Ryner ties and snips the thread before pouring astringent on his wound. 

“You’ll need to keep it clean,” she tells him. “As long as it doesn’t get infected, it should heal nicely.” Her eyes go hazy the way they do sometimes when she is telling fortunes. “Someday you will fly, Keith, higher than the birds. And if you are very brave, you will find someone who will raise you even higher.” She pats him gently on his uninjured cheek and smiles. “And catch you if you fall.”

Keith wrinkles his nose. That sounds an awful lot like the soppy romantic fortunes she tells for giggly girls in gingham and braids. He has no interest in pretty, blushing brides or tall, dark strangers, but Ryner sketches a small bow in Kolivan’s direction and takes her leave before Keith can say so. It doesn’t matter; he has more important things to focus on.

Keith prods at the hot, achy flesh surrounding his wound. The alcohol has numbed it somewhat, enough for him to grin at Kolivan hopefully. “Does this mean I get to be an acrobat?”

“If they agree that you are well suited to it,” Kolivan hedges. All Keith hears is _yes._

***

Kolivan delivers him to Ezor and Rolo, their most popular acrobat team and therefore de facto heads of the troop. It’s his first time interacting with them aside from handing off occasional messages, too star-struck to do anything other than watch from afar. His heart trips all over itself in anticipation.

Rolo eyes him doubtfully. “He’s kind of scrawny, isn’t he? Pretty sure I’ve had shits bigger than him.”

Keith scowls, hero worship neatly crushed beneath Rolo’s giant ego. “Pretty sure I’ve met dogs who smell better than you,” he snaps. To his surprise, Rolo only laughs, reaching out to tussle Keith’s hair. Keith ducks and only just manages to stop himself from slapping the hand away.

“Feisty too. Never woulda guessed with the way he’s always skulking about, hiding behind bushes and hay bales.” Keith goes red; he thought he’d managed to successfully hide his obsession.

“Stop teasing, Rolo. You’re embarrassing him,” Ezor says. She leans down to face level with Keith. “I’ve seen you climbing around the rigging during setup and breakdown, little monkey. You’re not scared of heights at all, are you?" 

Keith shakes his head; he isn’t exactly enamored with the pet name, but she seems more receptive than Rolo so he'll allow it for now. 

“Good,” she says. “And are you flexible? Can you do a back bend for me? How about a split?” He bends and twists his body however she asks, even if it makes his muscles burn and his cut throb every time blood rushes to his head. “Hmm. Yes, I’d say flexibility definitely won’t be an issue,” she muses. “The contortionists will regret they didn’t snatch you up first.” She smiles encouragingly at him. Next to her, Rolo slouches against a barrel, but his bored demeanor doesn’t hide the intensity of his gaze as Ezor put Keith through his paces.

Emboldened, Keith lets his leg drop from where it’s bent behind his head and scrambles to his feet. “I can do all kinds of tricks, too,” he boasts. 

“You can, huh?” Ezor laughs, a tinkling, bell-like thing that is a touch too indulgent for Keith’s liking. He’s determined to knock that condescension right out of her tone. He’s going to prove that he’s not just some snot-nosed, no talent kid with no idea what he’s getting into. He’s going to fly through the air and jump through flames and be the best damn acrobat this circus—no, this entire world—has ever seen. 

***

Keith arrives in Plaht City with a single bag, a letter in his pocket, and doubts in his heart. He doesn’t make his way immediately to the fairgrounds on the outer edges of town, meandering instead through the streets and people watching. He stops to buy some hot sticky buns and gives them to a couple street kids he spots huddled in a doorway halfway down the alley across the street. They give him suspicious looks when he crouches down to give the paper bag to him, but the boy snatches it from his hand and passes a bun to the little girl next to him before cramming his own into his mouth.

“Whadya want for ‘em?” the boy mumbles, spraying crumbs as he speaks. 

Keith frowns deeply. “Nothing. You should really ask that _before_ you accept things, you know. Actually, don’t ask it at all. Don’t ever give ‘em the idea that you owe anyone anything.”

The boy frowns back, pausing in his chewing for a moment, watching Keith with narrowed eyes. The little girl is focused solely on her bun, curled in against the boy’s side. They look like siblings. “How d’you know anything ‘bout it?” the boy asks sullenly.

Keith cocks his head to one side and smiles ruefully. “Because I was in your position once.” His smile falters and turns strained. He doesn’t mention all the lessons he’d learned the hard way, before crawling his way onto a train and into the circus life.

The boy looks at him dubiously, eying his overly starched shirtsleeves and the heavy silk vest Ezor had wrangled him into before kissing his cheek and shoving him towards the train, seeing him off along with the rest of the circus crew. “Bullshit,” the boy barks. 

Keith laughs despite himself. “No, really. Cross my heart.”

“How’d you get rich then?” the little girl pipes up. 

Keith smiles at her. He’s far from rich, but from their perspective, he must be doing very well. He leans forward over his knees. “I joined the circus,” he half-whispers conspiratorially. 

“Bullshit,” the boy says again. “Prove it.”

Keith glances around the alley, considering. Then he sets down his bag and takes a running leap, jackknifing off the brick wall and grabbing for the handrail of the fire escape overhead. He swings his body through the opening and up into a handstand, then finishes it off with a back flip down to the ground again. He lands in a crouch before the children. The breathless exhilaration of flying will always be his first love, but shocked, awed looks like the ones on their faces is a close second. 

_“Wow,”_ the boy breathes, then grins and jumps up excitedly. “Wow, wow, wow! How did you do that?”

“A little bit of magic, and lots and lots of practice.”

“Your shirt’s torn, mister,” the little girl tells him, pointing at his sleeve. Keith eyes it, poking a finger through the hole where the seam had torn under his arm with resignation. Ezor would berate him for being so careless. Rolo would laugh and say ‘ _why are you so surprised, with a stuffy shirt like that?’_ Kolivan would shake his head with that frown that betrays his amusement, while Thace would sigh out ‘ _little monkey’_ with fond exasperation. Millie, the bearded lady, would sew the hole back up, but she’d do it with bright red, or blue, or green thread, to teach him a lesson he hasn’t learned yet.

It’s been a week and he feels like he’s left a piece of his heart behind. 

“Ah, well.” Keith stands. If people take issue with him for a hole or two, then he wants nothing to do with them anyway. He picks up his bag, dusting a bit of dirt off before slinging it back over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I need to be going.” He pauses, then digs in his pocket for the spare change from the buns and holds it out. It’s the majority of his money, but hopefully he won’t need it soon. “Here. Don’t keep it all on you at once, okay? Hide some away so no one comes after you for it.”

“I know,” the boy snaps. He snatches it out of Keith’s hand before giving some to the girl and hiding the rest in his clothes. “I ain’t stupid.”

Keith bites his cheek to hide his grin. “No, I guess not.” He gives them a little wave and heads for the opening of the alley. It’s getting late and he has places to be. 

“Hey mister,” the boy calls just before Keith reaches the street. Keith looks over his shoulder. The boy has his hands clenched tight and a determined look on his face. “You gonna make us pay to watch you perform?”

He doesn’t bother to tell them that he’s not actually with the circus. Not yet, anyway. “What are your names?”

“Tom. And this’s Angie,” the boy says, hugging an arm around his sister. 

Keith nods solemnly. “Go to the ticket booth tonight. I’ll make sure there are tickets for you.” Even if things don’t work out. Even if he has to pay for them with his last penny. With any luck, he won’t have to.

He leaves the alley with a single bag, a letter in his pocket, and determination blooming in his chest.

***

_“I’ve found a place for you.”_

_Keith frowned, glancing down at the whiskey glass in his hand like it had betrayed him. He should have known Thace and Kolivan wouldn’t offer up the expensive stuff for no reason. “What do you mean?” he asked in a flat tone, even though he was pretty sure he already knew._

_“I’ve found a place for you,” Kolivan repeated patiently. He slid a letter across the little table in their quarters, where they’d invited him for an after dinner drink earlier. “I’ve been in contact with the daughter of an old acquaintance of mine. She plans to revive her father’s circus and is in need of performers.”_

_“No.”_

_Thace sighed. “We talked about this, little monkey.”_

_“Then you already know my answer,” Keith said, in a sharper tone than he would normally even think of using with the men who, in many ways, had become like uncles to him._

_“Don’t be difficult,” Thace told him with a hint of exasperation. “You deserve a place to shine. A place where you will be the star, not the starting act for Ezor and Rolo, or part of the ensemble.”_

_“I’m perfectly satisfied with my role,” Keith said, settling mulishly into his chair. He took a swig of whiskey and ignored the disapproving look Thace gave him as he did. He could practically hear the admonition not to treat good whiskey like that. He took another rebellious swig._

_“No, you aren’t,” Kolivan said quietly. “And you never will be. Do you think we don’t know you well enough to see that?”_

_Keith hunched in on himself. Okay, so maybe sometimes he wished he had the freedom to do the really big tricks, the ones he practiced but never performed for fear of taking attention from the main act. But he wasn’t unhappy, aside from when Thace and Kolivan brought up this particular topic._

_“Why are you so eager to get rid of me?” Keith snapped, lashing out in frustration. “Do you really want me gone so badly?”_

_Their disappointment settled around him like a wool shirt two sizes too small. It felt awful. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, shrinking in on himself. He looked down at his glass, wishing to find answers floating somewhere in the amber liquid._

_Keith heard the rustle of fabric, and then a hand settled on his shoulder, large and warm and comforting. “We want what’s best for you,” Kolivan told him. “And this,” he tapped the envelope sitting innocently on the table, “is what’s best for you. Circus Voltron was among the best in its heyday. I truly believe it will be again, even more so with you as their star acrobat.”_

_“I don’t want to leave,” Keith admitted in a small voice. “You’re my family. This is home.”_

_“And it always will be,” Thace said firmly. The hand on his shoulder squeezed reassuringly. “You are always welcome back, anytime. But it’s high time you fly on your own, Keith, even if we have to kick you out of the nest to make it happen.”_

_Keith scowled at the envelope, full of misgivings. Then he downed the rest of his whiskey and exchanged the glass for the letter. It was far too light to hold an entire future within, should he choose to accept it. “Fine,” Keith grumbled. “But if I hate it, then I’m coming back and we will never have this discussion again, all right?”_

_Thace smiled widely and picked up the whiskey bottle to refill Keith’s glass. “A toast, then.” He held the glass out to Keith, then tugged it back before Keith could take it. “Sip it, this time.”_

_Keith rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, old man. I’ll treat your precious whiskey right.”_

_Thace eyed him warily, but handed it off before setting the bottle aside and picking up his own glass. He raised it in the air. Keith and Kolivan followed suit. “To flying,” Thace said._

_“To family,” Keith challenged._

_“To you, Keith,” Kolivan finished in a familiar rumble Keith already missed. They clinked glasses and drank._

***

It’s still early, mid-morning, so the circus is only half set up. Crew members flit back and forth like a well oiled machine, calling out to each other. They laugh and joke with each other as they erect tents and set up stands. This is their last stop before they break for winter and training. Anticipation seeps into the very air, infecting circus members and curious onlookers alike; the last show is always the best. 

Keith edges through the crowd milling at the edges, looking for someone who might be able to help. He finds it in a young woman dressed in boy’s clothing, who is checking a pile of supplies off a list in her hands.

“Excuse me,” he says politely, because even if he’s unsure whether he wants to stay, a good first impression has never harmed anyone. “Could you tell me where—”

“You need to stay behind the ropes,” she interrupts without even looking up from her list.

Keith grits his teeth and tries to quell the threads of annoyance tangling through his nerves. “I’m not an onlooker,” he tries again. “I’d like to speak with—”

She cuts him off again, flapping a dismissive hand at him. “Whatever, I don’t care. Anyone who’s not with the circus needs to stay behind the ropes.”

“I’m looking for Allura Alforsdóttir,” he snaps, done with her attitude. “Where can I find her?” So much for first impressions.

The girl finally bothers to look up at him. Her gaze is intense behind a pair of spectacles far too large for her sharp face. Combined with the tawny hair, she looks a little like an owl. Or perhaps a fox, with the way her lips curve into a smirk upon noticing the tear in his shirt. “What do you want with Allura?” she asks.

“I have business with her,” he says tersely. 

The girl eyes him for another moment, then shrugs. “Romelle!” she yells loud enough for Keith to flinch. 

A moment later, a tall girl around his age with long blond pigtails bounces up to them. “Pidge!” she yells back, nearly as loud even though she’s standing only a few feet away. “You called?”

The younger girl, Pidge, jerks a thumb at him. “He’s looking for Allura. Can you take him to her?”

Romelle nods, cocking her head as she looks him over with curiosity. “I’m about to check on the horses, but I suppose I can make a quick stop by the big top.”

Pidge turns back to her supplies without answering or even saying thank you. Romelle rolls her eyes. “Pay no attention to her,” she tells Keith. “She gets cranky during setup and breakdown.” Pidge kicks backwards. Romelle dances out of the way with the ease of someone long accustomed to dodging limbs. “So what’s your name, pretty?”

“Uh, Keith,” he says hesitantly. The entire conversation has him wrong-footed and out of sorts. All circus people tend to be a bit quirky, but he’s used to _his_ circus people’s type of quirky.

Romelle nods. “Well, Keith. It’s nice to meet you. Come with me.” She tucks her arm in his and tugs him further into the chaos around them. “So what brings you to our fairgrounds today? You know the circus doesn’t open until this evening, right?” She winks at him mischievously, eyes twinkling.

Keith bites back the smile threatening. She reminds him a bit of Ezor and it puts him somewhat at ease. “I am aware, yes.”

“And what’s your business with our fearless leader? I know she’s quite beautiful, but I should warn you that she’s already affianced.”

Keith snorts. “Don’t worry. Her beauty could rival Helen of Troy and I still would not be interested.” He holds his breath, waiting for her reaction. Circus Marmora had been very accepting of his eccentricities, unsurprising considering the owner shared the same proclivities. Not everyone is so understanding, however; it’s best to know now whether it will be an issue. He has no desire to join a troop who would shun him for his preferences in bed.

Romelle’s eyes widen for a moment before softening. She smiles easily at him, patting his arm. “Well, that’s good then. Her fiance can get… difficult… when he thinks someone may cause trouble.”

Keith presses his lips together. Voicing his opinion on insecure lovers will get him nowhere. Then he sets eyes on Allura and understands. She’s quite beautiful, tall and elegant with miles of silvery hair that flows in curls down her back. Her smile is sweet, if slightly confused when Romelle introduces Keith. She’s sitting on the ground next to the temporary horse paddock, cleaning tack, but stands quickly and dusts herself off before offering a hand to shake. “A pleasure to meet you, Keith. How may I help you?”

Keith wordlessly digs the letter out of his pocket and hands it to her. It seems easier than trying to explain himself. Her brow furrows as she pulls the letter out, but a smile grows on her face as she reads. “Ah, yes, Keith! I knew the name was familiar. I apologize for not realizing earlier.” 

Keith waves her off. “Don’t apologize. It isn’t as if we’ve met before.”

Allura’s smile widens. “Well, I’m glad we have now. Kolivan was a dear friend of my father’s. He speaks very highly of you and your talents.” She pauses, smile wavering. “I trust his judgement, but I hope you will understand that we must have you audition regardless.”

“Of course, I’d expect nothing less,” he assured her. He’d be more worried if she were the type of person to accept performers on word alone. 

Allura nods, then looks to Romelle, who’d been standing off to the side petting the horses. “Melly, take over here, please.”

Romelle pouts. “I wanted to watch his audition,” she complains.

Allura smiles sweetly, but her eyes are firm. “The sooner you start, the sooner you’ll finish the tack and can come join us.”

Romelle sighs heavily, but it’s obvious that she’s only putting on a show. She gives the horse one last pet, then plops down onto the ground, heedless of the dirt on her skirts.

Allura shakes her head. “My cousin is quite dramatic,” she whispers, leaning in conspiratorially. “I’m afraid you’ll find it to be a common trait around here.”

Keith unsuccessfully bites back a chuckle. “I’ve found that to be a common trait among circus people in general.”

Allura laughs, loud and authentic, unusual for someone who clearly grew up among the upper echelons of society. Everything about her bearing screams of aristocratic blood somewhere in her heritage. “Quite true. In any case, I believe we shall need to wait a little longer until everything is set up. Would you like a tour of the circus in the meantime?”

Keith nods. “Yes, thank you.” He wants a better look at the place that may become his future home.

***

They walk the grounds, Allura pointing out areas of interest. The circus is much smaller than he’s used to, but everything looks new, not a hint of faded fabric or chipping paint to be seen. Everyone seems quite cheerful, if busy. It takes longer to view the grounds than expected because so many of them call out to Allura as they pass. Allura, in turn, introduces Keith. It’s a blur of names and smiling faces. If he stays, he’ll take the time to learn who everyone is, but for now he pastes a smile on his face and shakes hands, then stands by as Allura answers whatever question they might have before they move on.

"Where do you set up the freak show?" Keith asks idly as they near the edge of the circus area. So far he has yet to see anyone who might qualify, nor any sideshow tents.

Allura's expression tightens with disapproval. "We don't have one," she says coolly.

Keith raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Why not?"

"Because it's cruel to put someone up like a display for others to laugh and jeer at," Allura tells him, perfectly frosty now. 

Keith frowns. Clearly she has never met or spoken with a freak before. Never felt the scratch of a beard on her forehead and soft pillowy bosom beneath her cheek as a mother's crooning lullaby whispers through the air and chases away leftover nightmares. He doubts she has ever perched on the shoulders of a man so tall that the stars seem a little closer, or scrunched down tight while a man as small as she shows her all the best places for hide and seek. She has grown up with wealth, but her understanding of human nature is poor.

"Putting someone on display for ridicule is cruel," he agrees, careful to keep emotion out of his voice. "Those who deal in exploitation are wrong. But freaks are still people, many of whom are talented as you and I. And like us, able and happy to perform in exchange for purpose and a place to belong." He draws up short and slips his arm from her grip, catching her gaze and refusing to let go. "There is a difference between putting on a show and being put on show, Ms. Allura.” 

For a second, he thinks that his words have slipped right off her iced-over exterior, but then her expression thaws into something contemplative. "I hadn't thought of it that way," she admits. She breaks his gaze to stare at the fine patina of dirt covering her boots. “I admit, I grew up with stories of the circus, but father had already disbanded before my birth. I want to do his memory proud, but when it comes to knowledge or experience…” She looks back up at him with a blush and small, chagrined smile. "Thank you, Keith. I will take your words into consideration."

Keith clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh, sure. Anytime?” He straightens his shoulders and stands a little taller. “I grew up in the circus. Any questions you have, you are more than welcome to ask.” He falters—he’s gotten ahead of himself. “Provided you offer me a position, of course.” 

Allura nods and squeezes his arm briefly as she takes it again. He wonders if he’ll be expected to offer his arm to every lady he walks with. He’s not used to such formalities; the women of Circus Marmora would tease and accuse him of putting on airs if he ever dared offer such niceties.

It takes Keith a moment to realize Allura is speaking, distracted by the foreign warmth of her proximity. He snaps his attention back to her. “—should be erected by now, or nearly so. I expect you’ll need to change before demonstrating your talents?” She is very pointedly not looking at the hole in his sleeve.

Keith flushes. “Ah, yes. That would be preferable.”

Allura nods, looking away to hide her smile. Her eyes light up when she spots something, or rather, someone. “Shiro,” she calls, waving a hand. Across the way, a man pauses mid-stride and turns toward them. Keith’s mouth dries up. He is… very large, muscles straining the seams of the shirt he wears. He sets down the frankly ridiculous number of boxes he’d been carrying and approaches.

_Handsome too,_ Keith’s mind unhelpfully supplies, with warm, gray eyes and a friendly smile that shines on Keith like a sunbeam. He suspects his face must be red as a sunburn by now.

“Keith, this is Shiro, our strongman,” Allura says. That explains all the boxes and muscles, then. “Shiro, this is Keith. He is an acrobat who wishes to join our show. Would you please find him a place to change clothes so he may perform?” 

Shiro steps forward and offers a hand to shake, smile turning up a notch. “A pleasure to meet you, Keith.”

Keith shakes his hand. _It’s so warm._ Keith clears his throat. “Likewise.”

“An acrobat, huh? We are sorely in need of those,” Shiro says. Keith nods. He feels eight years old again, voice refusing to cooperate.

Allura steps away. “Shall we reconvene at the big top in, say, half an hour or so? Will that be a sufficient amount of time for you to prepare?”

It won’t give him much time to stretch or warm up, but he’s not too worried. He doesn’t need to go for any big tricks, just enough to prove he’s more than qualified. “That will be fine.” Satisfied, Allura bids them goodbye, leaving Keith alone with Shiro.

Shiro gestures for him to follow. He leads Keith through the fairgrounds, chatting amiably as he goes. “So, where did you last perform, Keith?”

Keith clears his throat again and coughs discreetly into his hand in an effort to loosen his throat. This is absurd; they’re going to think he’s sick if he keeps this up. “I’ve traveled with Circus Marmora for most of my life.” It comes out a little brusque, but it’s better than nothing.

Shiro makes an impressed noise. “I saw them once, when I was a child. You must be very good, then.”

Keith shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I am,” he says, then hides a wince. He must sound very arrogant. He won’t lie or playact at humility, however. It’s not in his nature. 

Shiro, for his part, just blinks at him, lips twisted up in curiosity. He looks amused rather than put off by Keith’s candor. “What made you decide to leave?”

_‘My foster uncles made me’_ seems like an unadvisable answer, so instead he goes with a semi-truth. “Marmora already has a well established main act.”

Shiro hums thoughtfully. “And you are hoping to find a place where you might shine.”

Keith glances at him with wide eyes, startled by Shiro’s words, so similar to Thace and Kolivan’s sentiments. “Something like that, yes.”

Shiro smiles. “Then you’ve found the right place. I think you’ll find that many of us are here for the same reason.” Shiro sways ever so slightly, shoulder brushing Keith’s for a brief moment. “There’s nothing like a fresh start, right?”

Keith nibbles at his lower lip, contemplating the words. A fresh start, a new beginning. It’s starting to sound more and more appealing. “I suppose you’re right,” Keith agrees, and is rewarded with another smile.

***

Keith changes in one of the train cars, leaving his clothes and bag there when Shiro assures him they will be safe. He can’t help but notice the way Shiro’s eyes track over his body, or the faint blush that dusts his tanned cheeks when he looks away quickly upon realizing Keith has noticed. Keith fights his own blush. He hasn’t been so aware of the way his clothing clings since he was eleven years old and fitted for his first leotard. He’s not even wearing one of his gaudy performance outfits, opting instead for the simple black leggings and white undershirt he wears while training.

“S-shall we go?” Shiro stutters. Keith rolls his lips inward to hide a smile and nods, gesturing for Shiro to lead the way.

By the time they’ve reached the big top, Keith’s confidence has scattered to the winds, convinced he must have imagined the look. The likelihood of finding someone of his proclivities was relatively low unless you knew where to look. It feels like too much luck to have found someone already, much less someone so handsome. 

He pushes the thoughts from his mind as they enter the main tent. He takes in their surroundings curiously. It’s not quite so vast as Marmora’s, but it still holds the impression of infinite space and possibilities. His heart picks up in anticipation at the sight of striped canvas so high overhead, the twin high wires strung from one side to the other and the trapeze rigging, ladders just waiting to be climbed, and trapeze bars ready to to fling him through the air.

His attention is pulled back when Shiro nudges him lightly on the arm. When Keith glances over, Shiro is smiling at him, head cocked to one side. “You have stars in your eyes,” he says when Keith looks askance at him. “You really do love this, don’t you?”

Keith feels like he should be embarrassed for being so transparent, but he can’t be. Not when Shiro has the same look of enthusiasm in his eyes. “I do.”

“Keith, there you are,” Allura calls. She weaves gracefully between the workers still setting up. She’s holding the hand of a lanky brunet. He must be the fiance. Allura confirms his suspicion a moment later when she introduces them. “Keith, I’d like you to meet Lance, my fiance. He is also an acrobat, but he specializes in trapeze. Lance, this is—”

“Oh, I know who he is.” Keith furrows his brow as Lance interrupts. The man’s arms are crossed tightly over his chest and he’s glaring at Keith as though Keith had disparaged his mother.

“You do?” Keith asks. Lance nods, scowl deepening. “Do… I know you?”

Lance’s mouth drops open with indignation. “Do you—Allura, do you hear this?” He flaps his hands around dramatically. Keith watches the display, bemused. “Of course you know me! We’re rivals!”

Keith shakes his head, nonplussed. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

“Oh, no, I could never mistake that haughty face,” Lance growls. “I auditioned for Circus Marmora two years ago and you were the one who evaluated me. You had the gall to tell the owners that I wasn’t _good_ enough.”

“You probably weren’t,” Keith says without thinking, then regrets it immediately when Lance squawks so loudly it hurts Keith’s ears.

“I was too! You were just jealous of my amazing skills.” Lance draws himself up and crosses his arms. There’s a vindictive light in his eyes. “Well, now it’s my turn to evaluate you. I hope you’re prepared.”

Keith straightens, a competitive thrill running through him. “Oh, I am.”

“Lance, don’t antagonize him, please,” Allura says. She sets a quelling hand on Lance’s shoulder.

“I would hope you wouldn’t purposefully evaluate Keith unfairly,” Shiro says. Disappointment colors his voice. 

Lance wilts under his disapproval. Keith thinks he would probably do the same if that tone were to be turned on him. “Of course not,” Lance mutters, sneaking another glare at Keith. “ _I_ have integrity.”

Keith rolls his eyes in exasperation. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to warm up.” He stalks off without waiting for an answer. He chooses a clear area out of the way and sits down to stretch out his muscles. Footsteps approach. He turns his head, ready to snap out a frustrated ‘ _what’,_ but the word dies on his tongue when he sees Shiro standing above him rather than Lance. 

Shiro gives him a little smile. “You’ll have to forgive Lance. He’s a good man, he just gets a little carried away sometimes.”

Keith bites back the acerbic quip he wants to make and shrugs instead. “It’s fine. I don’t really care.” Shiro doesn’t look very convinced. Keith hides his frown against his knees as he leans over to touch his toes.

_Everyone else has been nice,_ he reminds himself. One bad egg is not the worst thing ever. _Even if he’s the one I’m going to be dealing with most._

Keith shakes his self-pity away. It will do him no good here; instead, he allows his annoyance to feed his competitiveness. If Lance wants to complain about not being chosen, then Keith is more than happy to show him why.

Keith finishes his stretches, then kicks his legs up over his head and vaults himself into a standing position, ignoring Shiro’s quietly impressed grunt and Lance’s muttered ‘ _show off’._ “I’m ready,” he tells Allura in a composed voice.

Allura bites away her amused smile and sweeps her hand toward the main circle. “I’ll leave it to you, then. Please, show us what you can do.”

Keith nods, then lets everything fall away to focus on the space around him. He quickly plots the best route, then takes off running. The first flip shoots adrenaline through his whole body. Another flip, round off, then a dive through the middle of three rings that would normally be lit on fire. He twists mid-air and uses his momentum to launch himself into a double back flip.

He runs through his floor tricks with ease, then moves on immediately to the ladder that leads to the tightrope. It’s one of his favorites, filling him with sweet nostalgia for his early days with Tiger. He hand-walks his way halfway across the wire before falling into a round off, a cartwheel, down into a split and back up, into various jumps, single foot and single hand balancing, and more. Then on to the trapeze.

His mind always focuses down to a pinpoint when on the trapeze—the burn of muscles, friction against the calluses on his hands, air blowing his hair away from his face. He lets his momentum slow until the trapeze bar is still in the air; partner trapeze will have to wait for now. He twists and turns and flexes his body through all his best tricks.

Finally, he stands on the trapeze bar, heart pounding in his chest. He’s only ever performed this trick in practice, with everything measured down to the last centimeter. If he were smart, he wouldn’t even think of attempting it now, even with the safety net below.

Of all the things Keith has been accused of, smart has never been one of them.

Keith pulls a pair of leather gloves from his waistband and slides them on. He bends to grab the bar, falling backward. He swings around, again, and a third time to gain momentum, then lets go. He freefalls through the air, heart in his throat. Then his hands hit the tightrope and he grabs on for dear life. The line bites into his hands even through the leather and he swings around and around the wire so fast his shoulders strain with the force. His momentum slows and he finishes the trick standing tall and proud in the middle of the tightrope, arms thrown victoriously in the air. He laughs, giddy and exhilarated by his success. He slowly becomes aware of the panicked yelling below him.

Reality sets in. He glances down to see Shiro, Allura, Lance, Romelle and a half dozen others staring up at him with pale faces and wide mouths. Keith winces. His stomach flips and somersaults, as if it hadn’t gotten the message that he’d stopped. He slowly walks his way over to the ladder and climbs down sheepishly. Allura is there to meet him at the bottom. “What in blazes do you think you were doing?” she snaps. Her face is pale under her tan and her eyes are sharp with anger. “That was completely reckless! Are those the sorts of stunts Circus Marmora allow?”

Keith shrugs. He’d never been given the chance to do stunts like that outside of practice, no matter how many times he’d landed it. His stomach drops; now he probably never will. 

“Allura, calm down. The net was up, the danger was minimal.” Keith turns to Lance, surprised. He’s the last person Keith would have expected to come to his defense. Lance narrows his eyes. “Don’t get too excited, flyboy. It was still dumb as hell to do it without knowing the rigging. And not even that impressive. I’ve done riskier tricks on the trapeze.”

Keith’s lip curls up. He crosses his arms. “I’d like to see you try it, then.”

Lance puffs up his chest, clearly ready to take him up on the challenge, but Allura cuts in sharply. “If you so much as think about getting up there, I will make you regret it.” Lance deflates with a pout. 

“Well, I thought it was amazing!” Romelle says, hands clasped in front of her chest. “Shiro, don’t you think it was amazing?”

Keith sneaks his first glance at Shiro; he’d been avoiding his gaze for fear of reproach. The look on Shiro’s face says he’s trying to play the disapproving adult, but is having a hard time hiding his amusement. “Very impressive. Quite the chance you took.” Keith isn’t sure if Shiro is talking about the trick itself or that Keith would try it during an audition. 

Keith shoots him a small smile, then turns back to Allura. “I apologize for worrying you, but I came here because I _want_ to take chances. I want to show the audiences things they’ve never seen before. Doing that means taking risks. I promise you I will never do something I’m not confident in, but if that’s not something you are willing to allow, then I don’t think this would be the right fit.” He watches her, refusing to back down or shy away from her intimidating stare. 

“For God’s sake, Allura, our entire job is courting danger. Just hire the man so I can stop clinging to your lover like a monkey on the trapeze and go back to being a contortionist.”

Keith hadn’t even noticed that the young woman who’d dismissed him earlier had appeared. She glares at them all through her too big glasses like they were personally trying to inconvenience her.

Allura sighs, resigned. “I suppose I’ve been outvoted, then. Keith, if you would like to join us, we would be happy to have you.” She spears him with a hard look. “Provided you are willing to give me a full list of your tricks and keep me apprised when you plan on trying anything new or especially dangerous.”

Relief floods Keith, quickly followed by excitement. “I believe I can do that,” he agrees. He holds out a hand. Her grip is firm when she takes it. And just like that, his new life begins.

***

“For the hundredth time, Lance, I’m not Pidge. If you try to catch me using a foot hang like that, your feet are going to snap off at the ankle.

Lance flips up out of his foot hang and sits on the trapeze bar instead so he can glare mutinously at Keith, who is still standing on the platform. “Well, maybe you should lose a few pounds then, huh?” he snaps. 

Keith looks down at his own body, then smirks at Lance. “But then I’d be as scrawny as you are, and one bony ass is enough for this act.”

“Oh, sure. Of course you want to keep yours nice and plump. Gotta attract Shiro somehow, right?”

Heat prickles over Keith’s body and face even as his hands go cold and clammy. “Th—that’s not… shut up, asshole!”

Lance laughs obnoxiously, untangling the pulley rope so he can haul himself back over to the other platform.

“Trouble in paradise?”

_Oh, no._ “Oh, hey Shiro. When did you get here?” Keith asks, praying to all that is holy that he hadn’t overheard Lance’s comment. He and Shiro have been dancing around each other for months now, even as their friendship grows deeper with each day. Keith isn’t quite sure he’s ready to endanger that just yet, especially not because of Lance’s teasing. 

Judging by the quirk of Shiro’s lips, Keith’s prayers have gone unheard. “Just a few minutes or so.” Lance’s ugly, braying laugh gets louder. Keith wonders, if he flings himself hard enough off the platform, if he can tackle Lance and shut his stupid mouth up. It might be worth it; even if he fails, he can still faceplant in the net and hopefully untangle himself fast enough to make a run for it. 

He’s just about ready to try, when Shiro calls up to them. “Keith, why don’t you be catcher, since your legs are stronger,” he says, eyes bright with mischief as Keith blushes and Lance sputters. “Maybe instead of a foot catch, you could do a split? Would that work?”

“He just wants to see you spread your legs,” Lance mutters, still loud enough for Keith to hear across the 40 foot space. He continues before Keith can say anything. “Yeah, Keith, why don’t you let me be the flyer for once?”

Keith rolls his eyes. They switch off fairly evenly, all things considered. For all of Lance’s bluster and boasting, he’s quite talented. He also must have practiced and trained a lot since his audition with Circus Marmora; Keith can’t imagine having turned him away as he is now. They work surprisingly well together, barring their first few weeks when Keith had contemplated walking out every night as he lay in his bunk, listening to the other man snore and mumble and kick. He trusts Lance quite literally with his life, to catch him as he flies through the air and hold tight until they are both safely on the other side. He thinks—hopes—that Lance feels the same.

Keith considers Shiro’s suggestion. It’s a simple adjustment, relatively simple but flashy enough to suit he and Lance’s desire to mix things up. Certainly more likely to succeed than Lance’s stupid ankle hang idea. He looks across the space to Lance, checking in with his partner.

Lance shrugs, as if to say, ‘ _I’m up for it if you are’_ Keith grins back. ‘ _You’re on’._ He adjusts the harness they use for practicing new tricks, grabs the bar, and pushes off.

The inverted straddle isn’t hard, though the momentum of the backswing requires a little more balancing than he’d expected. Lance’s weight will provide a counterbalance, so he isn’t too worried. He practices a few more times until he feels comfortable, then nods at Lance to signal he’s ready.

Lance swings and lets loose in a basic fly trick. Keith catches him easily, then grunts. The pain along his inner thighs, just below the knee where the ropes dig in, isn’t bad, but the sharp flare in his spine from the press of the bar is. He grits his teeth; he’s used to hurting—an unavoidable consequence of his profession—but this is a little more extreme than even he’s used to.

Lance must see it in his face, because he frowns. “Let go,” he commands. Keith doesn’t hesitate. He lets go and Lance drops. He swings, safe in his harness, as Keith flips right side up and lands back on the platform. He flexes one knee with a grimace while he rubs his knuckles along the knobs of his spine. “You okay?” Lance calls up from where he’s swinging lazily.

"Fine,” Keith calls back. “I just need to adjust my positioning a bit.” He shakes out the ache and then goes for a few more swings, adjusting so the bar lays against his hips instead, with the ropes closer in on his thighs so they’ll take more of the weight. They try again but the position is too unstable and he slips. He manages to catch himself and turn it into a knee hang for long enough to swing Lance up onto the platform. 

When Keith lands next to him on the next swing, Lance grabs him, cursing quietly as he checks him over. A bloom of warmth fills Keith’s chest at Lance’s concern, even as he slaps his hands away.

Shiro’s head pops up from the ladder. “Are you hurt?” he asks as he climbs onto the platform. “I saw you slip.” 

Keith rolls his eyes but the warmth in his chest ignites into a fire that probably leaves his face an unattractive red. “I’m _fine,”_ he reassures them, pulling Shiro’s hands from his knees gently. “Truly.” Shiro looks up at him from his kneeling position. Keith swallows, hard, and refuses to think about other reasons for Shiro to kneel in front of him.

Shiro sighs and stands, lips pressed into an unhappy line. “I shouldn’t have suggested this,” he mutters. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.” 

Keith shouldn’t smile. He shouldn’t. He does anyway. It’s probably all sappy and embarrassing. He sets a hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “Don’t you dare go taking on blame that isn’t yours, Shirogane,” he chides.

Lance cuts in on the moment, as he always seems to. “Excuse me, I’m the one who fell before. Why didn’t you have a heart attack then?”

Shiro just shrugs, lips curled in a hint of impishness as he slides a conspiratorial glance Keith’s way. Lance throws up his arms in exasperation. “Ridiculous, the both of you. Keith, do you want to try again, or just chalk it up to a fail?”

Keith scrunches up his face. He hates the idea of failing at anything. “No. I just need to find the right spot. We can do this.”

Lance grins and snaps off a salute. “Hell yes, we can.” He grabs the bar and swings back over to the other platform again. 

Shiro puts a hand on Keith’s shoulder, mirroring Keith’s own hold. “Are you sure about this?” he asks.

Keith sighs heavily. “Shiro, I appreciate your concern, really, I do, but you’re overreacting. On a danger scale of one to ten, that was a two.” As nice as Shiro’s obvious affection for him feels, it’s also a little insulting. “Do you not trust me to know my own limits?”

Shiro’s eyes widen and he waves his hands frantically in front of him. “No, no, of course I do! I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Then stop worrying so much.” Keith smiles and nudges Shiro away. “I’ll stop when I need to, I promise.”

“Okay, okay,” Shiro relents. He sketches out a half-bow before climbing back down the ladder. 

Keith watches Shiro descend and go back to the weights he’d been practicing with. 

“Excuse me, you done ogling yet, flyboy? I’d like to get this show back on the road,” Lance asks pointedly. Keith glares mightily, but refocuses on the task at hand.

***

They practice for another hour, but no matter what Keith tries, he just can’t seem to find the sweet spot. He’s fine on his own. He’s even used to adding Lance’s weight in a static hold because they do that all the time. It’s the added momentum from the swing and the sudden jerk when he catches Lance that is the true hazard to his bones. He tried the move while facing forward, but that’s no better; the pressure on his belly and hips—or even worse, against his dick— is just as bad. 

Lance eyes the trapeze contemplatively as they take a break. “Maybe a shorter bar would be work better?” he tries.

Keith shakes his head from his sprawled position on the platform. “Won’t make a difference. The problem is that if I can’t bend my legs or wrap them around the ropes, then I need to keep the bar above my hip bones to keep me from slipping. There’s no way to position the bar against muscle.” He rubs his tender belly. Maybe he should gain some weight rather than lose it. There’d be a little more padding for his bones. And his organs.

“That plump ass isn’t worth much after all, is it?” Keith punches Lance on the thigh, but Lance just laughs it off before turning serious again. “What about wrapping the bar in fabric so it’s softer?” he muses, then shakes his head. “No, that will make other tricks harder.”

Keith grunts. “Curved bar, maybe, like a hoop.” He sits up as his mind coalesces around an idea. “Or something softer. Fabric.”

“Is the pain getting to your head, flyboy? I already suggested fabric.” Lance knocks his knuckles on Keith’s head. 

Keith swipes at him crossly. “No, not like—” He pushes himself to his feet, ignoring the way his body throbs. He’s going to need an entire barrel of ice. “I have an idea. Something I was working on with Circus Marmora.” 

“Care to share?”

Keith grins. This is perfect; he’s been waiting for a good opportunity to bring this up. “How about I show you instead?”

***

Keith stands in front of Allura, arms full of silky red fabric. She rubs it between her fingers thoughtfully as Keith continues his pitch.

“—completely safe. I’ve had three people hanging on it at once with no signs of rips or tears. You can wrap it around yourself similar to a rope and do all sorts of tricks you couldn’t with a regular trapeze.”

“And it will let us do the trick we’ve been working on without breaking Keith’s back or bursting his tender insides,” Lance interrupts.

“Hmm. And you’ve done trapeze with it before?” Allura asks.

Keith pauses, because no, he has not. “We’ll keep the harnesses on until we can be absolutely sure it will be safe,” he promises.

Allura hums again. “What is this made out of?”

Keith shrugs. “The merchant told me, but to be honest, I don’t remember. He talked. A lot. I mostly bought it to make him stop.”

Lance wraps an arm around Allura’s waist. “So, what do you think, Princess? If this works, it will be something people have never seen before.”

Allura lets go of the fabric, leaning into Lance’s side. “I must admit, I am intrigued. I suppose it’s worth a try. But promise me that you won’t even think of adding it to the show until you are sure you will be absolutely safe.” At Keith and Lance’s twin looks, she amends, “As safe anything else you do.”

Lance takes her hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles. “Of course. We would never even think of doing otherwise, would we, Keith?”

Keith rolls his eyes. He’s a risk taker, but a calculated one. “Of course not.”

“Well then, keep me informed on your progress,” Allura says before turning in Lance’s hold. “Lance, if I might have a moment of your time?” Lance leers and Keith beats a hasty retreat. He knows what happens during their ‘moments of time’ and has no desire to be anywhere near when it happens.

***

Shiro’s hands are like burning embers against Keith’s ice-cooled skin as he rubs healing balm into the bruises on Keith’s back. His disapproval hangs heavy in the air. It’s not entirely unwarranted; there’s no doubt he had overdone it today, despite his promise to Shiro that he would stop when he needed. 

Keith contemplates apologizing, even though he’s not actually sorry. In the grand scheme of things, this really isn’t much worse than what he deals with any time he works on a new trick. Besides, Shiro is being more than a little hypocritical. Keith has worked balm into Shiro’s bruised skin and strained muscles more than once.

Keith is distracted from his thoughts when Shiro’s hands slide up Keith’s torso, thumbs pressing firm circles into the muscles to either side of Keith’s spine. Keith bites back a groan, goosebumps tingling through him. Shiro’s hands feel huge against Keith where they wrap around the curve of his waist, fingers ticklish in the hollow spaces between his ribs.

Keith slumps, eyes shuttering as Shiro kneads his way up his back, working out the knots as he goes. Keith can’t hold back his small sound of pleasure when Shiro hits a particularly large knot between his shoulder blades. Shiro pauses, then digs in deeper with the palm of one hand. Keith lists further and further forward under the pressure of each press until he’s practically folded flat over his lap.

Shiro chuckles. “This might be more comfortable if you lay down.”

Keith hesitates. Laying down turns this from something impromptu and casual into something more intentional, something that leans hard against the bounds of friendship and propriety. 

Shiro taps Keith on the bicep. “Lay down, Keith.”

Keith obeys, shifting so he can spread out along his bunk. After an awkward moment where he’s not sure what to do with his hands, he settles with his head pillowed on his arms, turned to the wall in the hopes of hiding any embarrassing faces he might make.

Shiro moves around, trying to find a comfortable position next to him on the small bed. “Do you… can I just…” The bed dips, then Shiro’s knees are brushing lightly against Keith’s hips. “Is this okay?” Shiro’s voice is quiet, but there’s a hint of trepidation under the calm. It eases Keith’s own tension.

“Yeah, s’fine,” he mumbles into his arms, then lets out a loud groan as Shiro leans his body weight into Keith. His back gives a satisfying series of pops. 

Shiro lightens up. “Was that a good sound or a bad sound?”

“Good. So good.” So much for hiding his reactions. He would feel embarrassed, but Shiro’s hands are back and working him over, pain aching sweet and deep when Shiro presses in and then uncoiling into relief when he releases. Keith muffles involuntary sounds with his arms until Shiro gently pries them out from under him so he can squeeze and knead his way down biceps and forearms and even into his palms and fingers. Keith had no idea you could even have knots in your hands, but Shiro ferrets them out with startling accuracy. “You’re really good at this,” he slurs.

Shiro laughs as he sweeps back up Keith’s arms and down his back, gentling his touch over the bruising on his lower back. Every once in a while, Shiro’s thighs brush against his hips, though he’s clearly being careful not to set any of his weight on Keith. The feather-light sensation sends shivers through Keith that have nothing to do with relaxed muscles. This is dangerous territory, but Keith is not particularly inclined to put an end to it.

Shiro stills when his hands reach Keith’s waistband, fingers spread wide against his hips. His thumbs smooths circles around the dimples more than one lover has appreciated in the past. Keith takes a slow, deep breath, feeling more than hearing it as Shiro does the same. The thumbs move to run along his waistband. “Do these bruises go further down?” Shiro’s voice is even, neutral. Only the tiniest bit of rasp gives him away.

Keith’s heart rate picks up, pulsing in his throat and whooshing through his ears. He nods, then thinks better of it and says, “Yes.”

He can almost hear the gears in Shiro’s brain grinding, can tell the exact moment he comes to a decision. Still, he sounds hesitant when he says, “They could probably benefit from the balm, too.”

“Yeah, probably.” He waits for Shiro to make the suggestion he knows is inevitable, but Shiro doesn’t. The tension ratchets up until Keith can’t take it anymore. He takes the initiative, hitching his hips up enough so he can unbutton his trousers. Shiro’s careful inhale is loud in the quiet room when Keith’s ass bumps up against his groin in the process. Keith hides his smirk in the bed-sheets as he shimmies his trousers down enough to expose the bruises blooming over his tailbone. If it just so happens to expose the cleft of his ass in the process, well, there’s nothing Keith can do about that. He subtly adjusts himself before settling back against the bed.

Shiro’s touch against the vulnerable skin of his hip is startling, but to Keith’s surprise and dismay, Shiro’s hands remain professional as they smooth balm over bruised flesh. He’s slow and careful as he works it in, leaving behind the warmth of camphor and tingling cool of peppermint. The only time Shiro falters is when his fingers brush over the bottom edges of his tailbone. He’s not too badly bruised there, the bone protected by muscle, but Shiro lingers anyway. Keith shifts instinctively and instantly regrets it when Shiro withdraws. 

Keith gives up any semblance of propriety. “My legs could use some of that balm too.”

Shiro lets out a surprised chuckle. “I’m sure they could.” For a brief second, Keith feels the heat of a body hovering over his, the brush of hair, press of forehead and butterfly flutter of lashes between his shoulder blades. Then it’s gone. “Okay.” Shiro swings off of Keith. He pats Keith’s thigh gently, then squeezes lightly before letting go. “Trousers off.”

Keith wriggles free of the fabric quickly, hesitating a moment before shucking his long johns as well. He pulls the blanket across his hips in an effort to preserve some semblance of modesty. Baring himself entirely is a little too forward, even for him. Shiro’s hands are on him, hot and a little greasy with balm, almost as soon as he’s properly arranged the fabric. Shiro hisses in sympathy as he traces over the purple spreading behind Keith’s knees. 

“It’s really not as bad as it looks,” Keith assures him. “I’ve always bruised easily.”

“Good to know.” Shiro’s hands are impossibly gentle sliding over Keith’s legs. Keith twitches and swallows a giggle when Shiro reaches the arch of his foot.

“Don’t even think about it, Shirogane,” Keith warns. Shiro laughs but leaves his feet alone, focusing instead on his calves. He spends some time to pay extra attention to his knees, then moves on to his thighs.

Keith can’t help tensing in something like anticipation. Shiro shifts as if he is about to pull away again and Keith panics, flailing a hand back until it smacks against Shiro’s leg. “Don’t!” He winces. “I mean, it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

Shiro is quiet for so long Keith feels a little sick waiting for him to respond. He finally gets his answer in the form of heat and pressure high on his inner thigh. Keith lets out a shaky breath, closing his eyes and widening his thighs slightly.

Shiro keeps up the facade for an admirable length of time, but his hands inch higher and higher until eventually his fingers are edging under the edges the blanket with every sweep. Keith struggles to keep his breathing under control and his little sounds of pleasure inside. It’s a lot harder to keep from pressing his hips into the mattress. 

Shiro stops, fingers wrapped around one thigh. His thumbs press firm against the crease where thigh meets ass. He leans over Keith, a long swath of heat along his back. “Keith,” he murmurs, so close to Keith’s ear that his breath flows warm against his skin, tickling the hair falling there. 

Keith’s answering noise is more of a moan than anything else. He can feel the evidence of Shiro’s arousal against his lower back. “Y..yes?” 

Shiro’s lips brush the shell of his ear. “I _do_ like your nice, plump ass.” And then he’s gone, leaving Keith stunned and cold in the absence of Shiro’s heat. 

Keith flips over, uncaring that the blanket does very little to hide his erection. “Where are you going?” he asks indignantly. 

Shiro pauses at the doorway, looking over his shoulder with a little smile. “Hunk and Lance will probably be back soon, and you should be resting anyway. I wouldn’t want to aggravate your injuries.”

Injuries and roommates be damned. Keith vaults off the bed and leaps onto Shiro’s back with a holler. “Takashi Shirogane, you giant tease. If you don’t get back here and finish what you started, I will—”

Shiro takes his weight easily with a hearty laugh. “Relax, I’m just locking the door.” He tugs on one of Keith’s ankles and arm gently until Keith obliges by sliding around his torso until he’s clinging to Shiro’s front instead of his back. Shiro supports him, careful of the bruises, but they are a distant second on the list of things Keith cares about right now. He’s far more interested in the way Shiro tilts his head forward to rest his forehead against Keith’s, in the happy, warm gray of his eyes and bump of their noses.

Keith tightens his arms around Shiro’s neck to pull him even closer. “Good, because I don’t intend to let you go any time soon.”

“Good,” Shiro says, and breaches the tiny space left between them for a kiss.

***

The rattle of the door sliding open jerks Keith awake. Lance stares at them silently from the doorway for a moment as they stare back, then turns around and leaves again. “I’ll let Hunk know to find other sleeping accommodations tonight,” he calls over his shoulder, just before sliding the door shut behind him. 

Keith stares at the closed door, heart in throat and eyes stinging from how wide they are. Shiro carefully pries Keith’s fingers from their stranglehold on the sheets. “Keith, it’s fine,” Shiro says softly.

“I know,” Keith says automatically, then shakes his head to clear it. “No, I know. It’s just…” There’s a difference between others knowing of your inclinations and having someone witness the evidence. Even having grown up with Circus Marmora, Kolivan, and Thace, it was generally understood that these sorts of things were better left behind closed doors. 

Hands cup his face and turn his head. “Keith, truly. No one cares. It wouldn’t be the first time one of us has walked in on another. It’s not… things are different, here. With us.”

Shiro’s brow is furrowed, the skin around his eyes and mouth tight with concern. Keith wants to smooth the fine lines with his thumbs but instead, he lays his hands over Shiro’s and turns to kiss the pad of Shiro’s thumb. “I know,” he says again, with more conviction. And he does, now that the shock has worn off. Shiro draws him in for a sweet kiss, and then another. “I know,” Keith whispers against his lips, then pulls back with a raised eyebrow. “But what happened to locking the door?”

Shiro colors. “I was a little preoccupied,” he defends. “I had my hands full of something precious. I couldn’t risk dropping it, could I?”

Keith stares at him, chest full of something he can’t describe. “Shiro.” His voice breaks and he has to clear his throat around a grin. “That was so terribly sweet, I might be sick.” Shiro bursts into laughter, the one that has him throwing his head back while his shoulders shake and he clutches his stomach. It makes Keith feel all kinds of things. Things he’s allowed to feel now, which is a wonderful and marvelous thing. 

“I will make no apologies,” Shiro declares, but goes willingly when Keith pushes him back down on the bed and straddles him. 

“You are impossible,” Keith tells him, then swallows down Shiro’s response. “Round two?” he asks breathlessly when they break apart. Shiro nods, nose bumping Keith’s as he does. “Great. I’m going to lock the door first.” He pats Shiro’s chest before rolling off the bed. Shiro’s laughter follows him.

After, they lie together, all lazy, sated kisses and sweaty, sticky skin. It should be gross, but it’s not. They talk late into the night about anything and everything until the words come slow and syrupy. Eyelashes flutter shut, then blink back open, unwilling to succumb to sleep quite yet. Fingers run over the shell of his ear, then trail down to curl against the nape of his neck as Shiro spins tales of a grandfather so strong he puts Shiro to shame. In turn, Keith traces the scar that streaks over a broken-nose bump, aftermath of a stray lion whip that Shiro keeps a little too quiet about. Keith doesn't pry; instead, he fills the silence by detailing the misadventures of his own facial scar.

The sun is just starting to rise by the time they fall asleep. It’s hardly a few fingers above the horizon when they are rudely awakened by what might must be the entire circus, cheering and banging pots and pans outside their train compartment. Keith buries himself under the covers and pillows, wondering if he can get away with never coming out again.

Shiro is having none of it. Laughing, he yanks the blankets off Keith like a complete asshole, but is kind enough to at least throw him his long johns before rolling onto his knees to shout insults out the window. He sounds more amused than annoyed. Keith peeks his head up just enough to see the crowd before ducking back down to find his pants.

Arms wrap around him from behind. “Don’t worry, they’re leaving,” Shiro says into Keith’s neck. “I told you no one cares.”

“I wouldn’t call that not caring,” Keith mutters, but he’s already turning to give him a kiss. “Please tell me that’s not going to be a thing.”

Shiro shrugs, slipping off the bed to find his own clothes. “For at least a week. It’s a pity you weren’t here when we discovered Lance and Allura were more than close. It’s far more enjoyable from the other side.” He glances over his shoulder and though Keith can’t see his smile, it shows in his eyes. “It’s done out of love, truly.”

Keith snorts. “I know.” His concern from last night has disappeared. He wonders now how he’d ever doubted it. He’s still not looking forward to spending time around Lance for the foreseeable future.

“It’s not all bad,” Shiro says, once they are as presentable as they’re likely to get. “Hunk made Lance and Allura a dozen heart-shaped pastries for them, and I’m sure he’s done the same for us. We don’t even have to share them, if you don’t want to.”

Keith seriously considers it, but then he thinks of Lance’s easy acceptance and the way he’d made sure they would remain uninterrupted. “I suppose we could share a few,” he grumbles. Shiro rewards him with more sweet kisses. It’s more than worth the teasing and embarrassment in the future.

***

The silks end up being a phenomenal success. Keith is only slightly miffed when Lance quickly surpasses him in skill, spending every free moment wrapped up in fabric and trying out new tricks. When Lance figures out a way to wrap up his torso so the fabric unravels as he drops before catching him a few feet from the floor, Keith gives up and hands the reins over to him completely. He has other ideas brewing anyway.

***

Keith sits on a grassy patch, taking a break and admiring the view.

“Subtlety just has no meaning for you, does it?”

Keith tears his eyes away from Shiro’s glistening form and bulging biceps as Hunk sits down next to him and nudges him with a shoulder. He takes the still-warm bread from him gratefully, licking a bit of home-made strawberry jam off his thumb. Only Hunk can somehow manage to make travel food actually taste good. He mumbles, “Thanks,” through a full mouth and turns back to watch Shiro train.

To label Shiro a strongman, while technically true, is a vast understatement of his abilities. Shiro doesn’t just pick heavy things up and put them down again. No, he picks them up and then _tosses them in the air_ like it's nothing. He flips and spins three hundred plus pounds around his body like it’s the cane Coran twirls during his Ringmaster show. He balances the ends of his barbells on the palm of each hand, and then he does it again while walking a balancing bar. 

He’s magnificent.

“So,” Hunk says once he’s finished up his own bread and jam. His tone is awkward. Keith thinks he knows what’s coming next. “I just thought I’d let you know, I spoke with the Holts earlier, and they have an extra bunk and, well, they offered it to me if I wanted. And I just thought, since Lance has pretty much moved in with Allura and all, you and Shiro might enjoy some privacy.”

Keith looks down at his sticky hands, skin prickling with heat, utterly mortified. “You don’t have to move, Hunk. I— I know we haven’t been the most discreet.” Understatement. He’s pretty sure their relationship was the reason Lance moved in with Allura, but Keith had brushed it off because the man had been looking for a reason anyway. This is different. “We’ll do better. I don’t want to kick you out of your own bed.”

Hunk’s smile is warm, but wry. “Keith, buddy, I spend more time in the Holt’s compartment than ours. You kind of already have.” He pats Keith’s knee when he wilts. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. You know how close Pidge and I are, and Sam and I have been tinkering around with his clockwork creations, and Matt’s pretty funny, and you know Colleen is like—”

Keith holds up his hand to stop Hunk’s babbling. “Hunk. I get it. As long as you and the Holts are truly okay with it, then I’m certainly not going to stop you.”

Hunk sighs in relief. “Marvelous. Fantastic. My only stipulation is that you be the one to tell Shiro, because I intend to pretend this conversation never happened.”

Keith snorts. Even though he fears his face may never return to its normal color, he’s truly grateful to Hunk. And to the Holts. Thanking them is going to be a lesson in embarrassment. “Me too, buddy. Me too.”

Hunk pats Keith on the shoulder and stands. “I’m going to go, then. The lions still need to be fed.”

Keith waves him off and returns his gaze to Shiro. Informing him that their sex life had permanently exiled both their roommates will be painful, but so worth it. 

Keith eyes Shiro’s thighs appreciatively as he balances a barbell on his shoulders and attempts to raise one leg high in the air behind him. He cocks his head to one side and licks a stray smudge of jam from his thumb.

_Yes. Absolutely worth it._

***

Keith kisses Shiro’s shoulder gently, then nuzzles the nape of his neck, reveling in the feel of skin on skin now they no longer need to fear being walked in on while naked. Shiro hums contentedly, taking Keith’s hand. He draws it up to his mouth to lay a kiss against his knuckles. Keith hides his smile against Shiro’s skin but he can’t hide from himself or the love that rises up in him at Shiro’s gentle touch. Nor does he want to.

He allows himself to enjoy the afterglow for a little while longer, then squeezes Shiro lightly and says, “Hey.”

Shiro looks over his shoulder, then, upon seeing Keith’s expression, flips over in Keith’s arms entirely so they are facing each other. “What is it, my love?”

Keith kisses him because he’s right there and he can, then reluctantly pulls back because he’d interrupted their cuddle time for a reason. “I was wondering, how much weight can you hold?”

Shiro raises an eyebrow, bemused, but humors him. “My heaviest weights are 550 pounds. Realistically, the weights I usually use are between 200 and 300 pounds. The volunteers I call up to verify the weights aren’t going to know the difference. The trick weights are 150.”

“How steady can you hold them?”

Shiro’s brow furrows. “Steady enough. What is this about, Keith?”

Keith sighs. “I have an idea. A proposition, really.”

Shiro runs a hand soothingly down Keith’s flank. “I’m listening.”

Keith kisses him again, then sits up, bunching the sheets around his waist and scrunching them nervously in his fists. He has no reason to be anxious, but it doesn’t change the razor edge of tension stiffening up his spine. “I was wondering how you might feel about combining parts of our acts.”

Shiro bites at one corner of his mouth. “I’m not sure what you mean?”

Keith scoots over to the edge of his bed and reaches under for the leather-bound journal he scribbles and sketches random thoughts and routine ideas in. He flips through the pages until he reaches the ones he’d kept hidden for nearly a month now, not ready to share them until they were more concrete. 

Shiro sits up as well and takes the journal when Keith offers it to him silently. His eyebrows slowly crawl higher up his forehead as he looks through the pages Keith had marked out for him. “You’re quite the artist,” Shiro says.

Keith waves that way impatiently; his little sketches are not the point. “But what do you think? Is it plausible? Is it even something you’d want to try?”

Shiro flips back to the first page Keith had shown him, studying them closely. Slowly, his lips curve up into a smile. When he finally looks up at Keith, his eyes are shining with excitement and anticipation. “Yeah. Yeah I think it’s plausible. And I really, really want to try it.”

Keith tackles him back to the bed and makes good use of their newfound privacy.

***

Keith stands on the sidelines, adjusting the collar of his new black and white costume—meant to mimic Shiro’s barbells—for the tenth time. He splits his attention between watching Shiro go through the first half of his show and searching the crowds for familiar faces.

He’s so distracted that he doesn’t notice he isn’t alone until a hand lands on his shoulder. “Hello, monkey.”

Keith whirls around. Kolivan and Thace are waiting for him. Keith barrels into them with an aborted cry of joy, wrapping his arms around both their necks and pulling them in fiercely. For a moment, Thace’s happy chuckle and Kolivan’s amused grunt drown out all other noise, and the faint remains of spring chill sneaking under the canvas walls is held at bay by the arms wrapping him up in a tight hug.

“It’s good to see you too, Keith,” Kolivan says, voice rumbling through the chest under Keith’s ear.

Keith takes another moment to revel in their embrace, then reluctantly pulls away. “You came.”

Thace snorts. “We told you we would.”

Kolivan sets a gentle hand on Keith’s head. “It’s the debut of your new show, monkey. Of course we are going to be here to see it.”

Tears prickle in his eyes; he’s probably an unattractive shade of red under the makeup he wears. In his head, he’d never doubted they would keep their promise, but his heart has long been tied up in the tendrils of his father’s passing, forever wary of the durability of family and affection. The tendrils had begun to loosen in his time with Circus Marmora, and even more so with Shiro and Circus Voltron. Today, they finally wither and fall away entirely. 

Kolivan hands him a handkerchief wordlessly. Keith takes it gratefully. “I am very glad you are here,” he says roughly. 

Thace smoothly changes the subject by nodding towards the ring. “Is that the gentleman whom you write of so often?”

Keith sighs. From one embarrassing moment to another. Keith looks over his shoulder. Shiro is busy spinning a barbell Keith knows for a fact weighs 250 pounds around his torso like it weighs nothing.

Keith can’t quite contain his silly, besotted smile. “Yes, that is Shiro.”

Thace’s eyebrows raise as he appraises Shiro, displayed in clothing designed to accent his muscular form. “I believe I understand the appeal,” he says with a smirk. Keith glowers at him, flustered, crossing his arms over his chest petulantly.

“Do not tease him,” Kolivan says with a subtle air of long-suffering. He turns to Keith. “You will introduce us after the show?”

“Of course. He’s been looking forward to meeting you,” Keith says. The banked mirth in both men’s eyes suggest that Shiro may grow to regret his eagerness. “Be gentle. He’s a good man,” he warns.

“Naturally,” Thace assures innocently. It is not, in fact, remotely assuring. 

“We will leave you to your preparations.” Kolivan squeezes the crook of Keith’s neck gently, then lets go and steps back. “We will find you after the show.” Thace pats Keith on the shoulder, then ruffles Keith’s hair. By the time Keith has grouchily fixed it, the men have disappeared again through the hidden opening.

He hardly has time to fret before Coran is skipping back into the ring to introduce Keith.

Keith closes his eyes and breathes deep until he hears his cue, then takes off in a series of handsprings toward the center of the ring where Shiro is waiting for him. With his last handspring, he plants his hands on the bar of one of the low weight trick barbells set out for them and brings it with him. He gets a split second to meet Shiro’s wild grin with his own, and then Shiro’s hands are next to his on the bar and Keith is kicking into a handstand as he’s hefted into the air along with the barbell. Shiro holds him aloft easily, steady as a rock while Keith switches his hands for his feet on the bar.

The crowd cheers wildly. If Keith weren’t already high on adrenaline, he would be now. Keith waves to them while Shiro walks them in a slow circle around the perimeter of the ring. When they get back to the center, Keith leaps upward just as Shiro tosses the barbell up in the air. Keith snatches it and tucks his knees to his chest around the bar, arms spread wide. His heart hardly has time to hiccup before Shiro’s arms are wrapped under his, halting his downward momentum before he can hit the ground. He can’t help but look up to Shiro with a smile. Shiro is smiling back at him, eyes soft and affectionate under the exhilaration lighting them up. Keith untucks and stands, passing the barbell back to Shiro as he does.

For just a moment, he is caught between the bar and the comforting press of Shiro’s chest against his back, and then he ducks out and they are off to their next trick.

Their act flies by in a blur of crowds and the hyper-focused feel of Shiro’s hands on him as Shiro whirls, balances, tosses and catches him and the weights. They flow smoothly from one trick to the next, as if it were their hundredth time performing, rather than their first. They have always been unusually in sync with each other, but tonight is something different altogether. Tonight, they are two halves of a whole, meshing and anticipating the other’s movements in a way that transcends the ease that comes with practice. Keith flings himself into space and when he comes back to earth, he knows he will be caught, kept safe by Shiro’s strength and steadiness.

Later, he will recall a fortune, imparted to and quickly dismissed by a child utterly uninterested in fate or love. _Someday you will fly higher than the birds. And if you are very brave, you will find someone who will raise you even higher and catch you if you fall._

He will recall, and whisper it to his lover in the sleepy privacy of their bed. But right now, in this moment, Keith soars.

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter: [kenda1l1](https://twitter.com/)  
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * "<3" as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> This author replies to comments (sometimes it just takes me a while to get over my glee and figure out how to reply.)


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